


Critical Bypass

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Con Artists, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Hypnotism, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: A sexy young hypnosis instructor – and con artist – gets more than she bargained for when a master hypnotist secretly enrolls in her class.





	1. The American Hypnosis Foundation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanwenmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/gifts).



> A favorite reader of mine mentioned that they enjoyed “hypnotized bystander” stories, meaning a story where a person accidently goes into hypnosis while observing the hypnotist work on someone else.  
> Another favorite kind story is one where the hypnotist is hypnotized, but doesn’t realize it.  
> Realizing there was a unique challenge here, I resolved to combine both plots and see what happened…  
> 

**_Are you a nurturer?_ **

**_Do you seek to help people?_ **

**_Are you looking for a new career?_ **

**_Every year, millions of Americans grapple with serious ailments that can be solved forever with hypnotism.  Hypnosis is a completely natural and invigorating process that helps a person unlock the power of their mind.  Hypnosis’ potential for healing and self-life improvement are just beginning to be understood by modern science._ **

**_Do you want to be on the forefront of this exciting frontier?_ NOW _is the time to make a life-altering change!  The AHF (American Hypnosis Foundation) offers professional certification classes, ranging from the beginner to the advanced master.  With a small initial investment, you can jump directly into the exciting field of hypnotherapy, helping clients all while earning a comfortable salary!_**

**_Introductory Hypnosis  (May 21 st – 23rd)……………..…..$400_ **

**_Clinical Hypnosis  (May 28 th – June 1st)…………..……….$850_ **

**_Advanced Hypnotic Techniques  (June 4 th – 15th)……$2000_ **

**_…and many other invigorating classes available!_ **

**_THE FUTURE IS YOURS; ENROLL AT WWW.AHFCLASSES.ORG NOW!_ **

 

 

**_February 2018_ **

**_San Antonio, TX_ **

“You’re Emily Buntley?” the kid from Uber asked.

The young woman nodded curtly, stepping forward to open the passenger door.  “My bags?” she asked pointedly, her English accent crisp.

The driver scrambled out of the driver’s seat, and hefted her two suitcases into his trunk.  As he grunted, Emily paused to check her phone, ignoring him until he was finished.

“Brilliant,” she complimented with a smile.  “Do you mind if I ride up front with you?  I’ve never been San Antonio; it would be fab to have a gander at your city.”

The young man paused to admire his passenger.  Emily was beautiful and professional to the eye, an elegant seductress packaged in a tight-fitting business suit.  At twenty-eight years old, she was still youthful and eager, but also projected a steely confidence that she only could have garnered from experience.  She was both regal and sexy.

Emily’s long, brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, which accentuated her fair complexion and bright, blue eyes.  Those eyes could be warm and inviting when she smiled, but cold and piercing when she was angered.  Her long, graceful neck cascaded down to her small, compact body.  A strict diet plus daily cardio had refined that small, compact body into a display of toned muscles, flawless posture, and tight curves.  Shortly after college, Emily had enhanced those curves by treating herself to a breast augmentation, a subtle but perky refinement of her chest.  She was breathtaking.  As they passed by, men slid longing glances at this modern Helen of Troy.

“Sit up front?” the driver repeated, coming out of his momentary trance.  “Um, sure.  Hop in.  Uh, I’m Dennis Talmen.  By the way.”

Emily settled into the car, making sure to cross her legs in Dennis’ direction and then lean slightly towards him.  Her miniskirt and low-cut blouse teased the boy’s eyes as he piled into the driver’s seat.

“Very good,” Emily smiled, pretending to be charmed.  “Off we go, then.”

Dennis turned over the motor, and soon the little car was speeding down Route 281.  His passenger gazed out at the skyline before them.

“Your first time to San Antonio?” Dennis asked.

“Yes, quite,” lied Emily, her voice light and playful.  “Oh, it looks bloody beautiful!”

Dennis grinned, enjoying himself.

*********

Downtown traffic was snarled, as usual, but the driver pulled up to 315 W Ashby Place in good time.  Once again, Emily didn’t budge while Dennis hauled her luggage to the curb.

“Smashing,” the young woman said brightly, moving to stand before the boy.  “You’ve been ace, Dennis.”

“Yeah,” the driver passively agreed.  “Listen, if you’re bored after hours, and want someone to show you around town…“

“That’s fine, Dennis,” Emily said, carefully placing on hand on his elbow, the other on his shoulder.  She gazed at him intently, employing a lingering smile.  “You won’t mind a large tip, will you?”

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers before Dennis’s eyes.  The boy didn’t seem to notice.

“Huh?” he mumbled.  “Oh.  Oh, no.  No, thank you.  You’re really awesome.”  He grinned.

“Cheers, darling,” Emily smiled, and smoothly pulled her wheeled bags into the large office building.

Dennis stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring after her.  It never occurred to his fogged mind that Emily had never actually paid him anything.

*********

The National Headquarters of the American Hypnosis Foundation was up on the 17th floor, Suite C.  On paper, the location looked like an impressive corporate address.  In reality, Suite 17-C was little more than two neglected rooms, crammed with boxes of promotional material and a few folding chairs.  One ancient IBM office telephone plugged into the wall was the only electronic equipment.

When the AHF ever used its “headquarters,” it was purely because the office building was conveniently located near the Gonzalez Convention Center, the more expensive hotels, and San Antonio’s business district.  And even then, the two rooms were used only as a meeting site.  And for storage.  Clients nor business partners were never, ever, **_ever_** invited here.  To do so would allow an image-deflating peek behind the AHF’s curtain.

Emily pulled her suitcases into the dilapidated little suite, scowling at the three men who were seated inside, waiting for her.

“You couldn’t have called ahead to say you’d be late?” Sean Bayer grumbled.

Emily ignored her colleague, shoving her suitcases against the cardboard cutout displays stacked against the wall.  She found the last folding chair, then joined the circle.  The men packed in their card game.

“Can we get this over with, then?” said Emily crossly, crossing her legs and pulling out her hairpin.  “I’d really like to get to my hotel.”

“Fine,” Sean allowed.  The President of the AHF, Sean was a barrel-chested man in his late fifties, already going gray in his temples and beard.  The broad-shouldered fellow had a weather-beaten face and tough, gnarled hands, which created a threatening appearance if you happened to bump into him by accident.  But the burly Texan was also a natural politician.  When he turned on the charm, Sean could be the most attractive man for miles around.

The other two fellows, Hank and Trey, cast silent but appreciative stares at Emily’s tight little body.  But cowed by Sean’s dominating presence, neither said a word.

These four were the entire professional staff of the American Hypnosis Foundation, a nationwide organization that pretended to be a giant in their field.  The three men lived in Texas; Emily in Boston.

The AHF worked hard to appear as if it were a legitimate, patient-centric hypnotherapy research institute.  By luck and sheer bluffing, they had inserted themselves into the American health care industry.  No-one had bothered to investigate the impressive-sounding accomplishments they trumpeted from their website.

In truth, Sean, Hank, Trey, and Emily had not one psychological credential between themselves.  What they lacked in education and concern for genuine hypnotherapy, they made up in brazenness, natural talent, and sheer greed.  The AHF existed only to line their pockets.  The well-being of the hypnotists they certified – to say nothing of the patients in their care – meant nothing to them.

“Alright,” Sean rumbled, producing a clipboard.  “We’ve got less than three months before our media push.  I need to finalize the training schedules.  Then you three will have to start doing the PR rounds.”

Emily sighed, not bothering to mask her displeasure.

Sean ignored her insolence.  “What makes sense to me is this:  Hank, you’ll teach Clinical Hypnosis.  Same lecture slides from last year.  Trey?  You’ll do the three intermediate classes.”

“Cool,” Trey acknowledged.  “You care what I put in the curriculum this year?”

Sean paused, thinking.  “No conversational inductions,” he ordered.  “I don’t like that crap.”

“Conversational inductions?” Hank said.  “What the fuck are those?”

“Its an Ericksonian technique,” explained Trey, stealing another look at Emily, who was engrossed on her phone.  “You hypnotize someone in a conversation using code words and passive techniques.  They never realize what you’re doing, and then-“  He snapped his fingers.  “…they’re under.”

“Its total bollocks,” Emily pronounced.  She shot an acid glare at Trey, who looked away from her breasts a second too late.

“Just go light on the touchy-feely stuff, will ya?” Sean said to Trey.  “Thanks.”

“So… I’ll be teaching Advanced Techniques, then?” Emily said pointedly.

“No,” Sean replied firmly.  “I need you to do Intro Hypno again.”

“What?” the brown-haired woman fumed.  She set down her phone.  “Again?!?”

The teaching assignments were always a point of contention for Emily.  Five years in a row now, she’d been stuck with Introductory Hypnosis, purely because she was the hot girl with an irresistible English accent.  When potential AHF suckers… uh… er, **_students_** looked at Emily, they felt invited and reassured.  To women, she was the refined sister they’d always wanted.  To men, she was the Bond girl they desired in bed.  Whenever Sean promoted Emily as the Intro Hypno instructor, enrollments went up twenty percent.

“And what’s wrong with Intro Hypno?” Sean glowered at his British colleague.

“The returns on that class are rubbish, Sean,” Emily said, crossing her arms.  “Can’t we renegotiate my rate?”

When Sean had first created AHF University, he’d lured his instructors aboard by promising them a cut from every student’s tuition.  For every hopeless sap who plunked down $400 for Intro Hypno, Emily received $50.  The rate was so low because the lesson plans had been drawn up years ago; this course required no prep work whatsoever.  But the brown-haired woman hungered for the more advanced classes, where the take was much higher.

“No, we can’t,” Sean said firmly.  “The rates are the rates.”

“This is because I’m the woman, isn’t it?” Emily snarled.

“And you’re good at it,” AHF’s president sneered, his grin more condescending than usual.

“Sean,” interjected Emily, “you really have to up those rates.  If you want to retain me, that is.  I’ve been speaking with the NGH and AHA.”

Hank and Trey cleared their throats quietly and pretended not to have heard this subtle threat.  The NGH (National Guild of Hypnotists) and AHA (American Hypnosis Association) were **_legitimate_** hypnotherapy organizations, organizations that actually cared about the healing power of hypnosis.  Organizations that wanted to help people.

“Really?” said Sean, his face unreadable.

Emily cocked one eyebrow.

Sean passed a hand over his mouth, studying the British woman.  “Go on, then,” he challenged her.  “Jump ship.  Good luck to you.”

He’d called her bluff.  The NGH or AHA wouldn’t hire a con artist like Emily.  Never!  She was all glamor and sparkle, but offered absolutely nothing of tangible benefit to their members.

Emily’s neck stiffened.  “Fine,” she said tersely.  “I’ll do Intro.  But next year, we’ll renegotiate.”

“Maybe,” smirked Sean, returning to his clipboard.  “Now, the PR schedules…”

*********

To drum up as much revenue as possible, the AHF staff spent the next three months schmoozing at every job expo, career fair, educational open house, and employment seminar in the Southwest.  AHF would set up a flashy booth, and then press the flesh with the curious or desperate souls who wandered by.

Emily, with her stunning looks and natural charm, was in her element here.  “Oh, I absolutely think you would be a **_wonderful_** hypnotherapist,” she’d tell a surprised applicant, making sure to move in close, make eye contact, and touch them lightly on their forearm.  “You have such a natural way with people.  And I can tell you enjoy helping others, don’t you?”

Her whole presentation was based on glamor and sex appeal.  Using subliminally-coded language, she’d reel in all sorts of people.  Under her spell, they felt hopeful.

“But I don’t know anything about hypnosis!” many would exclaim.

“That’s quite alright,” Emily would assure them.  “I knew myself nothing when I started out.  But now I make a little shy of, hmm, $200,000 after taxes, **_and_** I cure people of their ailments.  It’s such a rewarding career, trust me,” she’d add with a musical laugh.

That was when the lights of hope would flicker in her victim’s eyes.  “And you,” Emily would then say, “why, **_you’d_** be a **_natural_**.  I can always tell.  Did you know that once they get their practice up and running, beginning hypnotherapists typically make…”  Here she’d pause, as if calculating.  “…between seventy to ninety thousand a year?”

And then she’d laugh once again, just as her applicant’s face lit up.

That “ ** _once they get their practice up and running_** ” phrase is how she got you.  What Emily never mentioned was that to get a new hypnosis practice started in Texas, Arizona, Colorado, or Utah, it cost a **_minimum_** of $200,000 to rent office space, place advertisements, and establish a credible reputation in your local community.  Not to mention the governmental paperwork that you had to navigate.  And the lawyer and insurance you had to retain as essential expenses.  Acquiring the four hundred dollar AHF Hypnotist’s Certification was the least of your worries.

Nonetheless, Emily seduced plenty of future students.  She was a certified genius at raking in those applicant fees.

Occasionally, Emily had to work a little harder for the money.  A skeptic would resist her pitch.  “I dunno…” they’d say, eyeing the AHF’s flashy banner, complete with glossy photos of happy, hypnotized patients.  (Paid models.)  “This guy once tried to hypnotize me in high school, but nothing happened.”

“Stand right here, please,” Emily would command instantly, the crack of authority in her voice.

Surprised, the skeptic would do exactly as she demanded.

“Now look here,” the brown-haired woman would say, holding two fingers before the person’s face.  At the same time, she’d carefully lay her other hand on their shoulder.  This created a false sense of intimacy, making them susceptible for the trickery that was about to strike.

“Focus on my fingertips,” she would say in a warm but rapid voice.  “Focus only here, on my fingers and on my voice.  Are you concentrating?  Excellent.  Focus even more intently.  More intently.”  With her other hand, she’d start to rock the victim, oh so gently.  “Yes, well done.  Focusing and concentrating.  Beginning to relax.  Focusing and concentrating.  Relaxing so completely…  When I click my fingers, you will close your eyes and find yourself in a calm and pleasant trance, yes.”

Then she’d snap, also while pressing the person’s shoulder, just a little.  To their surprise, the victim’s eyes would fall shut and their faces would go blank.

“Excellent, bloody brilliant,” Emily would now say, leaning closer and speaking more intently.  By this time, a small crowd would have formed, and she was always careful to wink at a young, awestruck man in her audience.

To her subject, she’d instruct: “Now, in your mind and imagination, I want you to visualize some important life goal.  Something you’ve always wanted.  Something you **_need_** to accomplish in your life.  Don’t tell me what it is, but see it clearly in your mind.  See yourself achieving this precious accomplishment.  And now see how wonderful you feel once you scale this peak.  See it now!”  She’d snap her fingers in a random pattern, all which delivering this rapid patter.

“You see?” Emily would then tell the onlookers.  “Hypnosis is safe, healing… and easy to master!  With the right instruction, of course.”  To the hypnotized person, she’d then say with a grin, “And that is why once you awaken, you will hurry to sign up for my AHF Introductory Hypnosis Training Course, and **_start reinventing the New You today!_** ”

This always produced amused laughter, and Emily was certain to chuckle along.  But she never removed the suggestion to enroll, either.

*********


	2. Introductory Hypnosis

AHF signed two hundred and fifty-seven students for Introductory Hypnosis in 2018; that worked out to a little less than $13,000 in Emily’s pocket.  Chump change, but she schemed to introduce a “lab fee,” a meaningless change which boosted her net somewhat.  Sean warned her that he wouldn’t permit that kind of shenanigan in future classes.

For the class itself, AHF rented the ballroom at the Hotel Contessa.  There was a small sea of chairs, and a raised platform stage for Emily.  She requested a podium, body mike, large screen, and a projector.  Catering was refused; it was an expense she didn’t want to bother with.  The students could bring their own damn lunches.

*********

On the first day of class, nine AM, the ballroom was filled to near-capacity.  The small army of AHF students squeezed into the metal chairs, excited to be learning something as mysterious and bankable as hypnotism.  People chatted and swapped phone numbers.  Everyone was convinced they were about to become the next stars of the hypnosis world.

And then, with the ballroom speakers blaring Avicii’s “Levels,” Emily made her entrance.  She strode in from the rear of the ballroom, greeting individual students with joyous smiles and handshakes.  Everyone stood and applauded.  She was like a sexy president arriving to address Congress.  The first day of class had a boisterous feeling already.

It took a few minutes before Emily reached the stage.  She looked **_sharp_** , wearing a crisp beige Tagliatore business suit with matching, high-heeled Jimmy Choo’s.  Her hair and makeup were precise, a finely-designed work of sheer art.  It had taken hours of exhausting work to pull this look together.

“Well, hullo, hullo, hullo everyone!” the British instructor said grandly, clipping on her body mike.  “Welcome to the first day of your success in hypnotherapy!”

She beamed like a proud mother, and the class burst into excited applause once again.  Emily laughed.

“Just a brief reminder,” she noted, making eye contact about the vast room.  “There is to be no video photography, please.  Just take notes by hand.”

Of course, a few students would video-film her anyway, and some of those clips would make their way to YouTube.  Truth be told, Emily secretly wanted this to happen.  Online amateur videos helped convince future students that this was a course worth taking.  And helped raise Emily’s online profile.

“Now, let’s get right to it, shall we?” the pretty instructor said, assuming command of her podium.  She activated her laptop.  The first lecture slide appeared on the giant screen.  “You all should find your course booklets under your seats.  Everyone turn to Page Five of the first book?  Smashing.”

And from there, the young woman launched into Lesson One:  The History of Hypnosis.

*********

To become a great hypnotherapist, one needs many things.

Of course, it is critical to learn the precise words that induce a hypnotic trance, to recognize the symptoms of the trance state, to form properly-worded suggestions, and to gauge a patient’s response to hypnotic stimuli.

But the two things of far **_greater_** importance for the beginning hypnotism student are to have a dedicated, patient instructor who is willing to offer feedback and answer questions.  And then, the student needs to practice for hours and hours and hours, working with real, hypnotized people.  Hypnosis cannot be learned passively; the skill must be developed by regularly doing it actively.

Emily knew all of this from her own personal experience, of course.  But she cared not one whit for her student’s education.  Oh, no.  Her lesson plans were stuffed with useless lard – like the History of Hypnosis – before she delivered the absolute barest minimum of hypnotism instruction.

The beautiful instructor cared about three things:  First, that she collected her bloated paycheck.  Second, when her Intro Hypno students realized their coursework was hopelessly inadequate for actually treating patients, perhaps sixty percent of them signed up for the next AHF course.  And third, nobody sued.  Emily’s course was the cruelest of scams.

*********

After lunch, Emily put up some slides with basic Hypnosis vocabulary.  Terms like “Somnambulism,” “Suggestion,” “Autoresponse,” “Convincer,” “Modality,” and “Critical Bypass” were flashed across the projector screen.  Everyone struggled to scribble down these precious words.

This ate up another hour.  Then Emily shifted gears.

“Let’s get into some real hypnotism, eh?” she merrily asked her class.  “So, may I have a volunteer?”

Two hundred and fifty-seven people shrank down in their seats.  Five hundred and fourteen eyes suddenly darted down to examine the carpet.

“Oh come now,” scoffed Emily, drawing a folding chair to the front of the stage.  “Not a brave soul among you?  Very well, then.”

The brown-haired instructor scanned over the sea of heads, pursing her lips.  “You, sir,” she commanded, pointing.

A poor fellow in the third row looked at her fearfully.

“Yes, you,” Emily insisted.  “Up here, now.  Straightaway.  There’s a good bloke.”

The man, a short, thin chap in his early fifties, shuffled up onto the stage.  His face was gray and his legs trembled.  His classmates all drew a collective sigh of relief, thrilled they were not the Chosen Sacrifice.

“Your name, sir?” asked Emily.

“R-R-Rodney Krannitz,” the man replied, sitting in the chair.  He swallowed visibly.

“Very good, Rodney,” complimented Emily.  To the class, she announced, “Now, follow along in your handbooks.  Page Seventeen.  I’ll be using the Dr. Chambers Induction, which should take me about two minutes.  You’ll be hypnotizing one another with this same induction later today.”

The class hurriedly opened their books.

“Very well, Rodney,” Emily rumbled, leaning forward to place a small hand on her victim’s shoulder.  “Stare at me, please.”

The beautiful instructor deliberately rested her weight on her upstage leg, which forced her to straighten her back and raise her head.  This made her bottom stick out a little, and opened her cleavage as well.  This little display of sex appeal made her alluring and distracting, and thus more effective as a mind-warper.  Hapless Rodney was already gaping up into her glittering eyes, helpless in her command.

“Concentrate on me, Rodney,” Emily instructed, quietly snapping her fingers in a random pattern.  “Relax.  Feel yourself relaxing, more and more.  Every time you blink, you go deeper into relaxation.  So much deeper.  Relax.  Relax even more.”

The man’s eyes were already glassy and losing focus.  Milking her performance, Emily let her patter ramble on, although she knew she already had Rodney’s mind.  Still, building a little suspense never hurt.  She wanted to class to know she was the uncontested master here.

“And now, Rodney,” she said when she’d had enough, “you will **_SLEEP._** ”

And she snapped her fingers, once.  Loudly.

Like a marionette with strings cut, poor Rodney collapsed forward.  His chest and arms flopped over his lap.  He was silent and still.

An impressed murmur rippled through the spellbound class.

“There,” Emily said matter-of-factly, straightening to her full height.  “Rodney here is now in a deep, somnambulistic trance.  He’ll find it quite impossible to resist any suggestion that I place within his mind.  Now, who can tell me why this is?”

No-one dared answer.

“It is because I have achieved **_critical bypass_** ,” the instructor trumpeted.  The last two words she was careful to over-enunciate in the Queen’s English: “ **_Crit–TEE–cull  BYE-paaaas._** ”  And then, just to be sure she was heard, Emily repeated the term twice more.

“Now, who can tell me,” cried the instructor, “ ** _what_** is critical bypass, and **_why_** it is so important?”

Again, the great hall was silent.

Emily tossed her hair, slightly.  “Critical bypass simply means that I have relaxed Rodney’s body and mind to the point where my suggestions have bypassed the critical section of his mind.  He no longer has the ability to evaluate what makes sense and what is complete bananas.  Everything I tell him is equally convincing and demands his complete obedience.  Observe…”

Emily touched Rodney on the shoulder.  “Rodney, love, when I click my fingers, you will awaken,” she announced.  “You will discover that you are, in fact, this class’s hypnosis instructor and you must teach them about critical bypass, because it is so very, very important.  Understand?  Brilliant.”  She snapped her fingers, quite loudly.

Instantly, Rodney sat up, an expression of momentary confusion on his face.  He rose to his feet.

“Now, class,” he cried out in a fake English accent, “you must learn **_CRITICAL BYPASS_**.  It is so important, its… like… the most important thing ever!  You have to hypnotize people with Critical Bypass.  Get me?”

The class laughed, although half of them twittered in nervous chuckles.

“Quite right, Rodney, well done,” Emily smiled.  She waved a hand before her subject’s eyes.  “ ** _FREEZE._** ”

Rodney immediately became a statue.  His eyes bulged and his mouth remained wide open.

“Observe,” Emily said.  “Even the most absurd suggestions are immediately accepted.  Rodney:  When I click my fingers, you are no longer a hypnosis instructor, but a large swamp bird.”  She snapped her fingers, right before her volunteer’s eyes.

“Caw!” Rodney crowed, “Caw, caw!”  He tilted his head, then flapped his way across the stage to hunt for frogs.

“You see?” Emily said smoothly.  “The critical part of Rodney’s conscious mind is bypassed.  And when he hears my instructions, he simply cannot distinguish between what is rational and what is ridiculous.”

“Now…” continued the brown-haired instructor.  “Why do we care?  Why is critical bypass so important in hypnosis?”

This time, someone attempted an answer.  “…because it allows you to control a person’s mind?”

“No,” cried Emily.  “No, we hypnotists do **_not_** control.  No, no.  No, we strive for Critical Bypass because it allows us to give our clients the treatment they crave.”

She walked to the very lip of the stage for emphasis .  “ ** _Without critical bypass,_** ” she thundered, “ ** _the hypnotic suggestions you give your clients will be useless._**   Absolutely useless.  Achieving critical bypass is the difference between **_success_** or **_failure_** in hypnotism.”

Her students scurried to write that down.  Rodney squawked and flapped his arms some more.

*********

Two year prior, a few former AHF graduates had filed a class-action lawsuit against the company, claiming fraud.  They had been right to do so, of course, as their hypnosis educations were worthless.  The only thing that saved AHF was that Emily had causally mentioned “critical bypass” in a single lecture slide, and the Elman textbook considered bypass to be the key of all hypnotism.  The trial judge, baffled by all the hypnosis terminology, ruled in Emily’s favor.

From then on, the brown-haired scam artist was taking no chances.  From that class on out, she drilled her students on critical bypass, if only so to protect herself from future lawsuits.

Critical bypass is a real condition in hypnosis, to be sure.  What Emily was not telling her students is that it cannot be taught.  Achieving bypass in a hypnotic subject is an instinctive art.  The right hypnotist, armed with sharpened instinct and much experience, can guide their subjects into that state most of the time.

But a rank beginner?  Asking a first-time hypnosis student to achieve critical bypass is like asking someone to perform at Carnegie Hall after just a single piano lesson.

*********

Emily did a few more demonstrations with poor Rodney, before releasing him and then quickly reviewing the highlights of the Dr. Chambers hypnotic induction.

“Now,” she told her students, “you will work in groups of two.  One person will be the hypnotist, the other the subject.  Come now, this is not the time to be shy.  You all must do this.  Hypnotists, put your subjects into trance, then walk them out.  Just that.  Then switch roles.  Everyone understand?”

The class dissolved into messy chaos as strangers paired off and attempted to hypnotize one another.  Emily listened absently from the stage, sipping water and checking her phone.

Of course, the students’ hypnosis sessions were complete disasters.  Those playing the role of hypnotist clutched their induction scripts, reading the precious words in shaky, uninspiring monotones:  “ _And now you will relax your arms they feel so relaxed yes you are doing so very well now you relax your legs yes very good you are going into hypnosis now very nice now relax your…_ ” and so on.  Those playing the role of subject sat and squirmed, hopelessly distracted by all the noise around them.

Emily allowed the chaos to stagger on, unconcerned.  Her social media feed was particularly juicy that day.

The instructor paused to check her online videos.  Last year, she’d begin posting little tutorials where she’d hypnotize a “volunteer” (paid actor) and use them to demonstrate Hypnosis Technique X or Y or Z.  She was careful to make the Hypnotism look easy, yet not give away any actual hypnosis secrets.  She always dressed in tight blouses, miniskirts, heels, and pinned-up hair, giving her that Sexy Librarian look.  It was shameless, but it drove up her numbers.  And, she hoped, lured men to take her class.

The latest comments were sexist and degrading:  “ ** _Goddamn, u so hot Emily, u can hypno me anytime, LOL!_** ”  And: “ ** _Wow, I love your videos, can you hypnotize a hot blonde with big breasts? Thx._** ”  And then: “ ** _This is so hot god can you do another hypno vid in yur bra and panties_** ”

Well, at least she’d hit 25,000 subscribers.  That was something.

“Uh… excuse me, Emily?”  A mousy woman student was trying to get her attention.

Emily sighed.  Usually at the twenty-minute mark of this lesson, the class started to realize they were doing something wrong.  Then she was inundated with requests to watch their blunders.

Emily tucked her phone into her micro purse and forced a smile.  “Did you achieve critical bypass?” she asked the woman.

“Er…”

“Try again,” Emily advised firmly.  “You just need more practice.”

*********

Day One of Introductory Hypnosis wrapped up without a single student managing to hypnotize a classmate.  Faces were drawn as people collected their bags and jackets to leave.

“Don’t worry, everyone,” Emily’s cheerful voice boomed over the speakers, “you all just need more practice.  So practice on each other tonight!  We’ll learn more tomorrow.”

The instructor remained at her podium and pretended to fill out paperwork as people filed out of the ballroom.  This kept distance from the students, who would otherwise mob her with asinine questions.  Many looked at her with quizzical eyes, but none said a word.

But then, just when Emily thought she was free to make her escape, a young man vaulted the platform stage.  He was African-American, lean and muscular, with a confident smile and easygoing manner.  Emily admired his white teeth and aw-shucks grin as he approached.  She guessed he was in his late twenties.

“Yes?” Emily said, hoping her annoyance wasn’t audible.

“Hey professor,” the young man said, “this is an awesome class.  Thanks for teaching it.  I’ve seen all your online videos, they’re just great.  Oh, I’m Devlin, by the way.”  He offered his hand.

“Hello, Devlin,” Emily replied, returning a quick handshake.  “So glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Listen,” said Devlin, leaning closer, “a couple of students and me, we’re not sure we’re getting the basic concepts.”

“I’m sure you just need more practice,” Emily said quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll practice tonight,” nodded the handsome student.  “But I’m thinking… we’ll be a lot more successful if you were helping us.  You available for some extra tutoring?”

Emily scowled inside.  In every class, there was one or two male hotheads who wanted one-on-one training.  They usually wanted to get her alone for a clumsy attempt at seduction.  Or they had some sick hypnosis fetish and wanted to be entranced to ejaculate in their pants.  Or something even sicker.

“I’m very sorry,” the instructor said sweetly, “but I’m afraid-“

“I’d pay you, of course,” Devlin cut her off.

Emily hesitated.

“You must be very in-demand,” the young man said.  “Say… fifty thousand for a specialized training session?  Three hours?  After class tomorrow?  I’ll even rent another classroom in the hotel.”

“Uh…” replied Emily, thinking quickly.  “I’m sorry, but…”

“I have the money,” Devlin said eagerly.  “Look, traveler’s checks.”  He pulled a long envelope from his backpack, and opened it on the podium.  Sure enough, inside were a small pile of valid American Express traveler’s checks, each printed at $10,000.

“We can even toss in a bonus if you help me hypnotize my first volunteer,” Devlin said, sweetening the deal.

Hmm.  Upon reflection, Emily thought that Devlin looked like a nice, gullible boy.  Still… there was the very real possibility that he was interested in sex, not hypnosis.

“I’m sorry, Devlin,” she forced herself to say.  “I just can’t work one-on-one with a student.  It wouldn’t be fair.  Also-“

The young man seemed to get it.  “Oh, this wouldn’t be a **_private_** lesson,” he interjected.  “It wouldn’t be just you and me.  Oh, no.  There’s, like, ten of us in the back of the class.  We all bonded over breakfast.  I’d want to bring all of them along, ‘cause they’re good people.”

“Eh, forgive me Devlin,” Emily couldn’t help but saying, “but how is it that you have-“

“Have so much money?” the boy laughed, interrupting her again.  “Well, if you gotta know…  My dad is CEO of Willow Crescent Associates; they’re Manhattan’s biggest investment house.  They turn over seven billion a year in capital gains.”

“Ah.  You’re a trust fund baby,” Emily surmised.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” replied Devlin, looking embarrassed.  “But I’m gonna make my own fortune.  I’m planning on learning hypnotism from you, then opening a national chain of hypnosis practitioners.  Gonna call it ‘Hypnosis For Living.’”  He grinned proudly.  “Catchy, huh?”

“Yes, very inspired,” Emily lied.

She tilted her head slightly, making calculations.

“I’m most impressed by your enthusiasm, Devlin,” the instructor said slowly, as if these words pained her.  “But my time is **_quite_** valuable, I’m afraid.  I do have my own clients and a self-help book which is coming out shortly.  I couldn’t possibly do a specialized class with you and your friends…”  Here she adopted a look of fake regret.  “…for any less than a hundred thousand.”

“A hundred…?” Devlin said, taken aback.

Emily nodded solemnly.

“A hundred,” repeated the young man, now looking down at the stack of checks.  “Well…  Hmm.”

Emily watched him struggle.

“Yes, you see its quite impossible,” she said briskly, gathering up her laptop and purse.  “Well, I’ll see you in class tomor-“

“Okay,” Devlin blurted out.  “A hundred.  Okay.”  He grinned.  “You’re the famous Emily Buntley, after all."

Emily smiled, already counting up the profit.

*********

The hotel bar was already humming when Emily stalked inside.  She selected a stool off to the side, where she could observe the clientele and select one or two who might be suitable evening companions.  Her gin and tonic in one hand, she projected an icy demeanor, smiling only at the young, rich men who ogled her.

Eventually, one of those fellows ambled up.  “Hey, I’m Bruster,” he offered in a boyish, slurred voice.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

No master of observation, this Bruster.  Emily set down her own glass, playing coy.  “Thank you, I’m quite fine,” she said smoothly.   “But tell me about you?”

Bruster’s eyes lit up.  He began regaling Emily about how he’d just traded over fifty thousand shares of pork bellies on the NASDAQ, and well, at two-point-seven percent markup, why, that was over two hundred thousand over the initial gross!  Or something.  Emily couldn’t really follow Bruster’s story, and truth be told, the handsome trader was having a hard time making sense of it himself.

But the beautiful hypnotist wasn’t interested in markets or Bruster’s money-making prowess.  He had a good build, and strong lips.  He would be an expert at giving oral.  He was also responding to her subliminal tests.  Emily crossed her legs, already anticipating an evening of pleasure.

“Bruster, love,” she cut him off.  “ ** _Look into my eyes._** ”

*********

The second day of Introductory Hypnotism was designed to overload the students’ capacity to absorb information.  Emily blitzed through sixty-seven individual slides, rarely pausing for questions or comments.  She prattled on about hypnotic techniques for smoking cessation, better study habits, exercise reinforcement, nail-biting treatments, and more.  By lunchtime, her students were worn down into a dazed stupor.

“After lunch, we’ll work on these techniques,” she promised.  “See you then!”

Of course, once the break was over, the beautiful instructor broke the class back up into pairs and instructed them to hypnotize each other all over again.  “This time,” she commanded, “identify a clinical need your partner has, and cure them!  Off you go, then.”

And once again, the students plodded into another worthless hypnosis session, where absolutely no-one got hypnotized.  And again, Emily fended off the requests for one-on-one critiques, patiently asking every student, “Did you achieve critical bypass?”

*********

As class broke up for the day, Emily smugly watched her students from the corner of her eye.  By now, they were realizing that her class would **_not_** prepare them to earn money as professional hypnotists.  While deeply discouraged, they would return for the last day of class, hopeful for some illuminating miracle that would never come.

It didn’t matter.  After the second class, all tuition was completely nonrefundable.  Emily could spend the whole day skipping about the stage, singing the Alphabet Song, and there wasn’t a damn thing her students could do about it.

The young woman snapped her laptop shut, thinking into the future.  In three months’ time, the London Hypnotism Symposium was being hosted by the International Psychiatric and Psychologial Association.  This was strictly a stuffy, academic forum, boring to the extreme.  But the more Emily thought about it, the more she suspected she could eek out an invitation.  That might lead to another impressive-sounding credential.  Anything which made her look impressive was worth pursuing.  Image was everything.

“Hey professor!” an eager young voice said.

Emily looked up from her purse, surprised.  Devlin was standing at the edge of the stage, nine other young, attractive students congregated with him.  As one, they beamed up at their instructor.

Oh.  Right.  The special class.  Emily had entirely forgotten.

Swallowing the impulse to curse, the young woman smiled.  “Very well, then.  Are you all ready?”

**********


	3. Special Session

Devlin led Emily and the group of students through the hotel lobby and towards the elevators.  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said causally pushing the UP button, “but I couldn’t rent a classroom.  The hotel is hosting a trade convention, or something.  All the small conference rooms are booked.  We’ll do the special class out of my suite?”

The ends of Emily’s mouth dipped downward.  “No bedrooms, mister.”

“What?  No,” Devlin replied, annoyed.  “We’ll use the suite’s seating area.  Its the only space I got.”

Emily said nothing, but adopted a disapproving glower.

“You want the hundred grand?” Devlin asked her pointedly.  “Then my sitting area will have to do.”

*********

The ride up on the elevator was quiet.  Emily found herself studying the other students.  They were all young and very attractive.  The men were lean, with tapered bodies, extremely thin waists, and well-muscled arms.  The ladies were athletic and toned, and because three of them were wearing leggings, Emily could see they had well-pronounced bottoms and shapely legs.  Each girl was very pretty, and it was hard to judge which was the most attractive.

None of the students looked at her; in fact, they all stared straight ahead, as if lost in thought.  The only sound was the gentle whirring of the elevator motors above.

*********

Devlin occupied the master suite on the top floor.  “This was all they had when I booked,” he shrugged, unlocking the door for everyone.

Emily stepped into the luxurious space, impressed by the decadence.  The room before her was a yawning seating area, with custom, tufted sofas curving about in a wide circle.  A rich, thick Persian carpet was atop the polished hardwood floors.  A hearth, several colonial bureaus, and still life paintings were placed on the marble-colored walls.  The ceiling was domed, with a small crystal chandelier twinkling above.  Emily could also see doors leading to other rooms of the suite.

There was a small table next to the front door; Emily set her laptop briefcase atop it.

At the same time, Devlin sauntered into the room, carelessly tossing his jacket on a sofa.  “This’ll do, right?” he gestured.  “Its not exactly a classroom, but we can work here, I figure.”

Emily took control.  “Quite right,” she snapped.  She moved to the center of the seating area.  “Very well, then,” she said, folding her hands.  “Everyone gather around?”

As her students shuffled forward to join her, Emily saw all the telltale signs of easy hypnotic subjects:  Glazed expressions, submissive postures, hesitant body language.  It was tempting to mesmerize them all and falsely convince them that she’d given them a dynamo lesson.  And collect her hundred grand.  And then maybe take two of the boys back to her hotel room.

But, no.  Oh, Emily could mass-hypnotize five of these slackers, easily.  Maybe even eight.  But ten?  That was probably pushing her luck.

Bother.  She’d have to improvise all three hours of this silly class.  And, of course, she’d prepared exactly nothing.

“Alright,” the brown-haired instructor sighed.  “Let’s, uh, let’s see your inductions then.”

*********

The slack-jawed students paired off.  Everyone sat on the couches.  Those playing hypnotist pulled out their scripts and robotically recited every word on the page.  This had absolutely no effect.

Emily noted that Devlin had his script memorized, which was the mark of a true professional.  But he was no more successful than anyone else.

“I’ve **_got_** to be doing something wrong,” the young man fumed when his partner opened her eyes, completely unhypnotized.

Emily nodded.  “You haven’t achieved-“

“Critical bypass, I know,” Devlin scowled, slouching on the couch.

The hypnosis instructor stole a glance at her watch.  Only forty-five minutes had passed?  Ugh!

The other students, discouragement on their faces, turned towards her.  “Well?” Devlin said impatiently.  “What are we doing wrong?”

With some alarm, Emily realized that she wasn’t just babysitting an extra practice session.  These students expected – no, **_demanded_** extra tutoring.  She couldn’t just run out the clock.

“Very well,” the British instructor said, moving to stand before the seated African-American.  “I’ll demonstrate again, then we’ll talk our way through it.  Devlin, look at me, please.”

Emily worked her magic on the young man, and his body went limp and into a trance almost immediately.  It was almost as if Devlin was faking it.  He was almost too easy to hypnotize.

Briefly, the beautiful hypnotist considered having a little fun and humiliating Devlin before his peers… but decided against it.  After all, why bite the hand that was about to pay her a hundred thousand dollars?

So instead, Emily commanded, “Now, Devlin, when I click my fingers, you will awaken.  You will be fully confident that you can hypnotize anyone you want using Dr. Chambers’ induction.  Now only that, you’ll be convinced I am the greatest teacher of all time!”  She grinned and winked at the students.  They were not at all amused by her little joke.

So Emily simply snapped her fingers.  Devlin opened his eyes, sitting up immediately.  Emily had never seen anyone wake from hypnosis so quickly.

“Yeah, Emily, what you’re doing is what I’m doing,” the young man insisted.  “I don’t think this Dr. Chambers induction thing works.”

“It works perfectly,” replied Emily smoothly.  Devlin’s irritation was starting to make her nervous.  “I hypnotized you with it, didn’t I?”

Devlin smoothly stood.  “Yeah, I mean… well, aren’t there **_other_** inductions?”

“There are,” admitted the instructor.  “AHF likes the Chambers induction because its easy to learn and master.”

“But there are other inductions we could be using,” Devlin pointed out.  “I read about some on the Internet.  What about conversational hypnosis?”

Emily felt a pang of exasperation.  Sometimes students took the subject matter into their own hands, seizing on whatever they discovered on their own, as if there was no difference between beginner materials, expert materials, and ridiculous materials out there.  There was a lot in that third category.

“Oh, bollocks,” she muttered, her professional mask slipping for a moment.  “Conversational hypnosis is absolute rubbish.  And even if it worked, its for experienced masters only.  You really shouldn’t give it another thought.”

“Conversational…?” a young woman asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.  “What’s conversational hypnosis?”

“Its actually pretty cool,” Devlin said.  “Because our subconscious minds automatically react to certain words like _relax_ and _focus_ and _exhale_ , the theory is that a skilled hypnotist can embed these signals into conversation.  If I say _relax_ , and I say it in a certain, soothing tone, your body will relax, just slightly.  If I say _focus_ , your mind does focus, just a little.  And if I say _exhale_ , well… see?  Your body naturally exhales.  By using conversation that embeds this language, I can offer suggestions.”

“You can hypnotize people, just by talking in conversation?” a young man asked, surprised.

“I _can’t_ , but others _can_ ,” Devlin replied easily.  He began pacing the room, very slowly.  “The human voice can be very tranquilizing, especially if I _relax_ my tone, _focus_ my concentration, _exhale_ in a rhythmic pattern.  Relax, focus, exhale.”

“Yes, facina-“ Emily started to say.

“Just a moment,” interrupted Devlin.  “Sorry, but I haven’t made my point yet.  See, if I was an expert, I could sprinkle those magic words into my conversation, and if I did if just right, you might _relax_ without realizing you are _relaxing_ , you would _focus_ all on your own, and of course you will _exhale_.  But you’ll _focus_ on your _exhaling_.  You’ll _exhale_ into the _relaxation_.  You’ll _relax_ deeper into _focus_.  Each time I repeat the words, you’ll _relax_ , you’ll _focus_ , you’ll _exhale_.  You’ll _relax_.  You’ll _relax…_ ”

Devlin’s voice floated in the air, somehow becoming continuous and soothing.  Emily, momentarily distracted, caught herself thinking about her next spa booking.  She absently pictured herself in the mudbath, relaxing, focusing, exhaling.  Just as Devlin was describing.

The young man’s voice flowed on.  Several times he seemed to be reaching his point, only to remember something else and keep talking.  And his voice was so pleasant.

“You see Tamika here?” Devlin murmured, indicating one of the young women.  “You see?  She is listening to me, and as she has been, she’s been _relaxing_ , she’s been _focusing_ , she’s been _exhaling_.  Relax, focus, exhale.  You see?  Relax, _focus_ , exhale.”

The lovely Tamika sat perfectly still.  Her arms hung limply at her sides and her face was drawn and expressionless.  Her eyelids were heavy, and they moved slowly when she blinked.

Surprised, Emily realized…  Tamika was slipping into a trance!

As the brown-haired woman watched the hypnosis unfolding before her, Devlin’s voice rippled on.  “Yes, its actually an amazing thing, right?  That anyone could be hypnotized by participating in a conversation?  But it happens every day.  Whenever you are listening to an excellent speaker, your mind _relaxes_.  You _focus_.  You _exhale_.  Relax / Focus / Exhale.  It happens all the time.  You are drawn in.  You allow yourself to become hypnotized.”

Devlin was now standing next to the dazzled Tamika, who looked like she was ready to topple over into slumber.  With a gentle smile, Devlin laid a hand on her shoulder, then said, “Tam … _sleep!_ ”  He snapped his fingers.

The girl’s eyes closed.  She sighed once, and then her head and shoulders drooped downwards.  She was out.

“Yes…” Devlin smiled.  He snapped his fingers before another young woman, a beautiful Asian.  “Sleep!”

The girl dropped into a trance immediately.

“Sleep!  Sleep!  Sleep!” the young African-American man commanded, walking about the circle, snapping his fingers before his classmates’ numb faces.  One-by-one, they tumbled into a hypnotic sleep, puppets in his control.

Emily watched all of this with a detached air.  She had failed to notice how her own body had become lethargic.  She gazed ahead absently, ignoring Devlin when he passed behind her.  Her own thoughts felt sluggish, the very way you feel when you are lying in bed but unwilling to get up and let go of that sleepy feeling just yet.  She felt good.

Devlin put down the last student, a handsome stick figure twenty-something fellow, who collapsed onto the couch when put into sleep.  Satisfied, the African-American playboy straightened, then move to stand directly before the AHF instructor.

“Emily, look at me,” he commanded.

Obediently, Emily looked up into his soft, brown eyes.  Devlin’s gaze seemed to be reaching for her, spinning and swallowing her mind whole.

In that last moment before she surrendered, Emily realized:  Devlin was no beginner hypnotist.  No, this boy was a master.  An expert who put all of her own peers and teachers to shame.  Though the power of his voice alone, the young man had somehow breached all of her mental defenses and seduced her thoughts.  In a moment, she’d be his.

“Sleep,” Devlin whispered, snapping his fingers directly before the brown-haired woman’s eyes.

Emily felt her eyes close; it felt wonderful.  The confused but contented thoughts in her mind evaporated, and she knew nothing more.

*********

A loud clicking sound startled Emily.  She blinked.  Her thoughts, momentarily dormant, raced back to her.

What was going on?

Devlin, standing directly before Emily, was smiling at her with a kindly look on his face.  He snapped once more, then dropped his hand.

“How do you feel?” he asked amiably.

Emily rubbed her eyes with one hand, considering the question.  How did she feel?

“Fine,” she replied truthfully.  “Just fine.  Yes.”

Around her, the students were still sitting on the couches.  They blinked and looked about in surprise.  If Emily didn’t know better, she’d think they just woke up from being hypnotized.

But no-one here had been tranced.  No.  No, all that had happened…

Emily frowned, momentarily puzzled at why the last few minutes felt a little hazy.

Ah!  She remembered now.  Yes, the students had practiced their hypnotic inductions, and they were all **_terrible_**.  Then she’d hypnotized Devlin as a demonstration.  That’s what had happened.  That’s all that had happened.

“What was I saying?” the instructor asked absently.

“You were talking about the class,” Devlin reminded her.  “How we need to practice our technique.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Emily, snapping back into bossy teacher mode.  “Practice, as you know, makes perfect.  All hypnotists should strive for perfection.”  The students wordlessly nodded.

“Except this isn’t a class on hypnotism,” Devlin said, staring into Emily’s eyes.  “It’s a class on giving oral sex.”

He snapped his fingers again, right before Emily’s face.

For a heartbeat, Emily’s mind went blank.

“Oral sex, quite right,” she stated, her conviction firm.  “Practice is **_absolutely required_** for proper oral sex.  I know we demonstrated this in class, but I can’t stress enough: always practice!  You all remember the technique?”

“Perhaps they don’t,” Devlin suggested.

Emily rolled her eyes.  “Very well,” she huffed, moving to an empty spot on the couches, “but this is the last time.”  She gestured for Devlin to approach.

Before the young man could sit, however, Emily seized his belt and began to open his jeans.  “As we discussed in class,” she lectured, “really well-done oral sex requires what?  A firm but gentle grip, but also plenty of lubricant.  Otherwise, its not really sexual, is it?”

Devlin looked slightly embarrassed as the brown-haired instructor shoved his jeans and underwear down around his thighs.  Emily’s hands took his shoulders and firmly guided him to sit on the couch.

“There,” Emily said with satisfaction, kneeling before the young man.  “See what a **_beautiful_** cock our friend Devlin has?  Yes, brilliant.”  She flashed an annoyed look at her students.  “Are you just going to gawk at me, or are you going to pair off and follow along?”

Devlin, already having trouble concentrating as Emily massaged his penis, cried out, “You all want to practice!”  He snapped his fingers over his head; the sound was like a crack of thunder.

Immediately, the other students grouped into twos.  The men all lost their pants in seconds flat.  Two women had no choice but to work together, but they somehow managed to improvise.

“Very good,” Emily said approvingly.  “Every lady is holding a cock?  Well done.  Now, as we discussed in class, you grip the shaft down by the base.  Use your dominant hand, of course.  The other hand cups the testicles, very lightly.  Now, I summon loads of spit, positively loads, because that’s the lubricant.  Then we begin…”

Emily placed her lips on Devlin’s tip, careful to remain delicate and poised.  Already the young man was dribbling, and she could taste his saltiness.

“You think that my cum tastes delicious,” Devlin gasped, and snapped his fingers right by her ear.

Emily was momentarily confused… until she realized Devlin’s taste **_was_** delicious!  His flavor was as if someone had distilled all the best parts from Christmas dinner, chocolate pudding, and her favorite beer, and mixed it into one superflavor!  In surprise, Emily moaned.

She pushed forward, her lips greedily washing over Devlin’s spear.  He was so erect, it was like making oral love to polished stone.  Warm, delicious-tasting polished stone.  Emily was surprised to discover that she was aroused.  She slurped harder.

The instructor’s thoughts were jumbled, but she did not notice.  All of this seemed perfectly natural to her.  She was a professional blow job instructor, after all.  Students from around the world came to her to learn how she worked her sexual magic.

Around her, Emily could hear the other male students (and the one female paired off with another girl) mumbling in delight as their partners worked on them.  She felt a twinge of pride.  She’d taught them all well.

Emily was plunging bigger and bigger lengths of Devlin into her dripping mouth now.  Her head bobbed up and down like a cork floating in a stormy ocean.  Devlin was close, she could feel it.  He was close…

“Orgy!” shouted Devlin.  “Orgy, orgy, now!”

Emily’s mind went blank.  She felt raw sexual lust claim her, blotting out her mind.  Suddenly, she was an animal woman, determined to claim Devlin as her prize.  Rising to her feet, she seized the boy’s shirt and yanked it off over his head.  The young man couldn’t resist her.

All about the room, the students were throwing off their clothes, attacking one another with reckless abandon.  Erect dicks locked in on wet vaginas.  Nude stomachs and breasts and arms and rears all embraced one another.  Everyone started off with their original partners, but soon people traded off.  Men fucked women.  Women ate other women.  Men sucked other men.  People combined into ungodly combinations of three, four, even five partnered-positions.  Had the original authors of the Kama Sutra been present, they would have been shamed into all the sex variations they’d never imagined.

Only Emily and Devlin remained connected to one another.  Once she was naked, Emily made sure Devlin’s cock was for her and her alone.  She straddled him as he sat on the couch, riding his pole and flapping her breasts before his grateful lips.  He fucked like a wild horse; it was hard for her to hang on.

But her climax was mind-blowing.  Emily thought she’d never been shagged so well.

Ever.

*********

The orgy raged on and on, like a furious battle where there are no causalities, and the warriors can continuously leap back into the fray.  At least, that’s how it seemed to the entranced participants.  Everyone under Devlin’s spell were convinced that they had the longevity of young porn stars, and with bodies that were twice as sexy.  Everyone copulated until they were left scattered about the Persian rug, limp and gasping for breath.

Emily found herself snuggled up against Devlin, his strong arms wrapped about her in a warm hug.  He pulled her close and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

But Emily was not a cuddle girl.  She pushed against her student.

“Hey,” Devlin growled.  “Look at me.”

Emily met his eyes.

“You are in love with me,” Devlin told her, snapping his fingers once.

The squeamishness evaporated from Emily’s heart.  Why… she loved Devlin!  He was just wonderful!  Dazzled, the instructor allowed her student to pull her closer, then roll her body to face away.  The two spooned.

It felt so right.

Emily sighed happily, nestling her butt against Devlin’s crotch.  She could feel his sticky penis, half-erect, poking at her.  She liked that feeling.

“You happy, baby?” Devlin murmured.

“Oh, so happy,” the brown-haired woman promised him.

“Heh,” Devlin grunted with approval, and kissed the back of her head.  Emily giggled.

The artificial couple fell into a silence.  Somewhere on the floor, one of the other students had passed about and was snoring softly.

“She’ll wake up feeling **_so_** well-rested,” chuckled Devlin, indicating the snoring woman..  “They say the two best things to help your sleep are getting hypnotized and getting laid.  She got huge helpings of both.”

“Hypnotized?” Emily said puzzled.

Devlin couldn’t help a yawn.  “Yeah.  Hypnotized.  You’re actually a hypnosis instructor, Emily.  But you don’t remember that right now.  Critical bypass.”

Emily frowned.  Devlin’s words made no sense.

“I saw your hypnosis videos online,” Devlin said lazily.  “Right away, I knew I had to have you.  But I couldn’t resist picking up a few hotties along the way to get to you.  Don’t worry, none of these motherfuckers will remember any of this in the morning.”  His hand lazily caressed Emily’s breasts.  “You won’t, either.”

“You’re screwing them over,” Emily said, realizing that much.

“Yeah, but I’m giving them great orgasms in exchange,” Devlin pointed out.

Not knowing why she spoke these words, Emily said, “I’m screwing them over too.”

There was a pause.  Devlin sat up, breaking the spoon.  “What do you mean?” he said, curious but suspicious.

Emily felt confused.  What **_did_** she mean?  Where did that naughty little thought come from?

Devlin frowned.  He snapped his fingers.  “Sleep…” he ordered.

Emily’s eyes closed as she went limp against the rug.  She dropped into the deepest of trances.

“Now,” Devlin’s voice said in her mind, “you will easily tell me what you meant when you said, ‘ _I’m screwing them over too._ ’  Tell me now.”

Removed from her control, Emily’s lips began speaking.  Her mouth spoke of the great scam of AHF, of how its only purpose was to bamboozle its students, and their hypnosis education be damned.  She also spoke of her own plans to fatten her own wallet, further rooking her own students with extra charges and fees.  She was **_proud_** of the grift.

Devlin listened, his face growing darker with each word she spoke.

When Emily had finished, her hypnotist looked positively aghast.  “I think,” he told the entranced British woman, “that we have to give you some additional suggestions…”

*********


	4. Epilogue:  Final Lesson

The last day of an Intro Hypno class was always trying for Emily.  As usual, she planned to teach from nine AM to four PM, breaking for lunch, then use the last hour of class time to hand out AHF diplomas.  Psychological studies had shown that if you give someone something that is absolutely worthless but do it in a way that suggests they worked hard for it, that person is likely to walk away proud.  So Emily always made sure to stage a phony presentation ceremony.  It ate up time.

But first, there was the day’s lecture material to plow through.  “The most common ailment you will be asked to treat,” Emily thundered into her body mike, “is smoking addiction.  Hypnotherapy is most commonly associated with quitting smoking, and so you will get **_loads_** of clients who want you to hypnotize them into becoming non-smokers.”

Her students, numb from copying down pages and pages of notes, didn’t so much as look up.

“Luckily, smoking cessation is a relative one-size-fits-all treatment,” the brown-haired instructor continued.  “Follow the scripts on page F-11, and you will do just fine.”

She paused.

A funny feeling crept over Emily.

“Of course,” she heard herself say, “the scripts on F-11 have never actually worked on any client, not that I know of.  In fact, its likely that AHF’s president, Sean Bayer, just threw them together one night.  Probably while drinking beer.  Sean likes to drink quite a bit, you know.”

The class hesitated.  Quizzical faces looked up from the notebooks.

“But I suppose those scripts could cure a client of their smoking habit,” Emily said, feeling surprisingly free.  “I dunno.  If anyone ever uses it and it works, let me know, ‘ay?  It would be a first in AHF history.”

Smiling a little, the beautiful instructor absently pulled out her hairpin, letting her locks tumble down about her small shoulders.  “Who am I kidding?” she chortled.  “None of you will **_ever_** treat clients.  How could you?  This course teaches you to spell ‘hypnosis,’ but that’s about all.  Not one of you will ever work in this business.”  She waved one of the course booklets in the air.  “Not with this shoddy material, anyway.”

Pure honesty was flowing freely from Emily’s lips.  Somewhere, deep within her subconscious, a switch had been thrown, and now her unfiltered opinions gushed from her wicked mind directly to her tongue.  She had no sense that any of this was wrong or unusual; in fact, Emily felt positively liberated to prattle on about the slimy philosophy at the core of AHF.  She talked on and on, regaling her students with stories of how she’d played them all for suckers, and would be laughing as she deposited their money into the bank.

Her audience sat, stony-faced.  Eyes glared.  Teeth gnashed.  And then, one-by-one, students stuffed their course booklets into their backpacks and stormed out of the lecture hall.  Several muttered horrible curses as they departed.

*********

“And then-“ Emily was saying, when suddenly her mind cleared.

What…?

What was she saying?  The instructor searched her memory, wondering why she felt disoriented.  Almost as if she was following a post-hypnotic suggestion…

“I’m sorry…” Emily smiled, shrugging off her momentary confusion.  “Where was…  Uh…  Oh, yes.  Smoking cessation.  So when you use the scripts on F-11…”

Her voice caught short.  The ballroom before her was almost deserted.  A mere twenty students sat there, arms folded, faces twisted in silent rage.  More than a few of them were filming her on their smartphones.

“…I’m sorry?” Emily repeated, confused.  The last thing she remembered was lecturing to a full class.  “What… what is…?”

Rodney Krannitz, her hapless victim from Day One stood.  “I think,” he said loudly, “that class is over.”

*********

That night, new Emily-tagged videos began popping up on YouTube.  The first was titled “ ** _How My Hypnotism Instructor Screwed Me!_** ”  Filmed from an iPhone on that last day of class, it featured Emily at the lecturing podium, gayly saying, “ _Why, did you know AHF advertises that we place 10,000 professional hypnotists a year?  Why, that’s utter rubbish!  Rubbish!  I think we take money from, like, 6,000-some students and we say they are…“_ – and here she used air quotes – _“…‘practicing hypnotists.’  But all they really are are hopeless rubes.  Heh._ ”

The next one was just as damning.  Titled “ ** _EMILY BUNTLEY, HYPNOTISM CONARTIST,_** ” it captured Emily bragging, “ _The Dr. Chambers induction script, you know that one?  There is no Dr. Chambers, never was.  That script is just loads and loads of random phrases which sound keen together.  I never use it myself.  Never.  Its rubbish!  You couldn’t use Dr. Chambers to put a baby to sleep._ ”

And the juiciest video:  This one, called “ ** _SCAM EXPOSED – Boycott AHF Forever!_** ” show Emily rattling off this whopper:  “ _Did you know that AHF applied for and got nonprofit status from the IRS?  What a laugh!  We rooked students for, what? …three million plus in net gross last year, and because you all foolishly pay us from personal checks, we can launder those through the Cayman Islands, and who’s none the wiser?  We’re just smarter than you are, that’s all._ ”

As that last clip went viral, the comment section grew more and more venomous.  Hashtag **_#InvestigateAHF_** was trending like wildfire on Twitter before the sun rose the next morning.

*********

**_Three months later…_ **

Rodney stood at the corner of S. Trinity and Chihuahua, checking his smartphone once more.  As he did, a blue Toyota appeared.  Uber’s logo was under the windshield.

“You’re Rodney Krannitz?” the kid behind the wheel called out.  “Sorry I’m late, sir.  There’s an accident up on Guadalupe.  I’m Dennis, Dennis Talmen.”

Rodney shrugged, climbing into the back seat.  “You’re actually on time.”

Dennis pulled away from the curb, heading downtown.  The radio was blaring local news: “ _Federal Prosecutors announced multiple indictments against the American Hypnosis Foundation this afternoon, effectively charging the entire organization with-_ “

“Hey, can you turn that off?” snapped Rodney.

“Sure thing, sir,” Dennis replied, and complied.  “You ever met a hypnotist?”

“Oh…” said Rodney, suddenly depressed, “yeah.  I was actually in that class which brought those fuckers down.”

“No shit?” the young driver exclaimed, fascinated.

Rodney fell silent.

“It’s a real shame, you know?” remarked Dennis, zipping through a yellow light.

Despite his sour mood, Rodney couldn’t help but ask, “…How so?”

“Well, hypnotism is a healing thing,” Dennis said.  “You can use it to help people, do a lot of good.  But the only times you hear about it in the news is when people are abusing it to screw one another.”

Rodney huffed.  “Sure, kid.  You think you’d ever use hypnosis for self-help?”

“Of course I would,” the kid replied airily.  “You just need to find someone to help you with a good heart.  That’s true for hypnosis.  And in life, I guess.”

Surprised, Rodney sat back, and considered those words.

*********


End file.
